


Habits

by Krembearry



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Like, M/M, SO SAD, i guess it works out idk, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krembearry/pseuds/Krembearry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based off of Habits by Tove Lo but sung by Haley Reinhart because I like that one better and it captured the emotion better i guess</p>
<p>Basically, Ray left and never forgave himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habits

He’d left for a reason, he knows that. He wasn’t happy there. Being in a group like that, so emotionally attached- he couldn’t risk it. He needed the distance. 

2 years, and he’s gone clean of crime. 

He wishes he felt clean. 

He sits in his bathtub, letting the water fill up around him slowly. He’s cramming a sandwich into his mouth, desperately hoping it’ll sate the hunger inside of him. He doesn’t taste the imitation meat sliding down his throat. 

Hunger still gnaws at his belly. 

Ray sits there and stares at the water, wondering how long it would take someone to find him if he just-

No. He couldn’t. They thought he was happy, not that they cared. None of them had talked to him in over two years.

Not that Ray gave them a chance. 

He sits there until his fingers are waterlogged and wrinkling, absently noticing the water has gone over the edge of the tub. He continues sitting as he unplugs the drain and turns off the water, watching the water swirl away. 

He stands and strips off his soaked clothes. He drops them onto the soaked floor, looking down at his body. His hands smooth over planes of skin that someone once worshipped. 

He left him.

Ray digs his fingers into his palms and forces that sweet face from his mind. Caring eyes behind a murderer, someone who could cut an innocent’s throat and then cradle Ray’s face so carefully to give him a kiss, then their bodies would ache to twine together, having to wait until that night for the release of his anxieties, forgetting himself in nothing but  _ R-. _

No, he’d left that. He didn’t need that anymore. Ray puts clothes on, whatever doesn’t smell like mold and loneliness, though he feels like that’s all anything smells like. He barely smells anymore. 

Fuck, he needs to get laid.

That’s what he tells himself, as he heads to the thrumming inner city, the bright lights and tantalizing pictures of scantily clad humans who practically beg for you to lay with them. Ray knows most of the girls don’t want this. He’s been in the business, and he knows the faces. He knows how to recognize someone who really does ache in the same way he does. 

He finds him, looking much the same. Ray whispers to the stranger, making him an offer neither want to refuse. They head off to one of the sleazier clubs, where you can watch others have sex in front of you. Live porn. It helps the other man get off, but Ray closes his eyes and just tries to forget the ache in his heart to replace it with an ache in another, deeper place, somewhere he wishes was more intimate. 

He’s been smoking again. He shotguns with the man after having laid open under him, pretending it doesn’t make him feel worse. He pretends he wants this more than anything and, for a moment, he does. 

He gets home and rips open packets of snackfoods, sweet and filled with cream and the irony makes him laugh through a mouthful. He can’t disgust himself any more than this. He feels something on his thigh and the urge to puke grows. He goes to the bathroom, cleaning himself of the stranger’s seed. It sickens him, and the feeling brings him nothing but nausea. He grips the edge of the tub as he can’t control himself any longer and the dinner comes up, bits of cream and bread undigested.

Ray is still starved, but you can’t get affection from anything he’s willing to do.

He said he didn’t want to get attached. 

He won’t.

He collapses in his bed, not feeling the tears slipping from his eyes and not caring. He has soft, sweet dreams of memories, after heists and jobs where he’d wake up to his hair being brushed aside, burning breakfast because they’re too busy kissing against the counter, holding hands while they drive to a diner to eat there instead, the love of his life apologizing for being so careless.

_ Careless. _

All he did was care, and Ray tore that away from him.

Ray wakes and he immediately grabs onto the alcohol beside the bed. The first thing he does is take a hefty swallow, hating the taste every second but it makes him float in blissful ignorance. 

He promised, a long time ago, that he wouldn’t do anything worse than alcohol and marijuana. He did. He left. But he didn’t do drugs worse than this. His lover would have been so proud. Then again, Ray promised plenty of things and he never did them, or broke them explicitly. 

_ I’ll never leave you, I love you. _

_ Really? Promise. _

_ Of course, Ry- _

Ray shouts, anything to blur out the name. He’d been trying to forget it for a year and a half. At first, it was okay, Ray doing jobs and really enjoying working by himself. Then he’d seen them pull a heist, saw another man on top of a building, shooting like he did, and he didn’t know how that felt. He followed them, in a way he couldn’t with anyone else, knowing how to avoid their every blind spot, and stared in horror as they all hugged and high-fived. Then that beautiful masked face started to turn, thinking he’d heard something, and Ray disappeared. He didn’t want to go back. They were happy without him.

He’d heard the crew had grown even more since then.

Good for them. 

Great.

Ray next finds himself in his biggest hoodie- _his, this is_ ** _his_** _and you wouldn’t let it go-_ sitting on a park bench. He watches the playground equipment, absently remembering climbing around on it and laughing. He remembers being happy. He’s pretty sure he’s happy. 

He knows he isn’t. It’s not worth lying about that. But he can’t just go back. 

He hears a voice and he looks back. There’s another man there, who comes and sits next to Ray. The ring on his finger tells Ray one thing, but the look in his eye tells him another, and he makes the man come alive under his fingers as Ray feels more dead inside every second. He fucks the man, right there in the park, and disappears before he can ask if they can meet again.

No commitment. No mistakes. It’s just that easy.

Ray is sitting in a car he broke into, hotboxing with himself and feeling higher than ever. Someone shouts and opens the door, but Ray knows how to handle himself, even plastered, and he knocks them back before melting into alleys. He’s leaning back against a wall and it’s so late. He’s tired. How long was he wandering around the town? He doesn’t know. His chest aches and he wishes he could just  _ forget _ . 

The tears start. That normally means he’s going to fall asleep soon. 

He’s not in a good side of town. He laughs to himself, because he knows that there is no good side. It’s all terrible. Los Santos is a shithole and they all know it. Ray leans back and stares at the sky. There’s screams in the distance. Sirens. A lullaby.

He’s falling asleep when someone grabs him. High and groggy, Ray isn’t sure if he could fight off the muscle he feels behind the grip. He’s jerked to his feet, and a scent washes over his senses that he doesn’t want to recognize. It brings him back to the bright house they’d bought, where he’d woken up for years and loved every second. He got scared and left. No reason, he was safe, but he had to leave and this scent screams safety. Ray keeps his eyes screwed shut. If he sees the face, he’ll remember the whole name, no matter how hard he’s tried to forget. 

“Let me go-”

“I did that once. I won’t do it again, Ray.”

That voice makes his heart scream and Ray goes completely deadweight, hoping it’ll make the man drop him. It doesn’t, of course. He’s squeezed tight to a familiar chest and he’s crying again, fuck, they’re both crying. Ray thinks they are, at least, from the tremor in the man’s muscles. Ray opens his eyes and traces the blue lines on his jacket. He knows this jacket. 

He falls asleep before he can recognize who’s holding him.

He’s carried home, to a home neither of them have been in for 2 years. 

Ray doesn’t feel himself getting scrubbed down. He doesn’t hear the soft gasp as he’s cleaned between his thighs. He doesn’t hear the sweet nothings. He tells himself that he doesn’t want any of it, but suddenly, he’s not hungry anymore. 

It’s perfect, but he doesn’t deserve it. He never did. 

He’s tucked into bed, pressed against the chest of a man who’s grown too soft, too forgiving, who kept the ring he bought through all this time with the vaguest hope that his boyfriend might return.

He didn’t try so hard to stay away just to come back. This isn’t what he wants.

It’s all that he wants. 

He wakes up to a teary face and the nearly-forgotten syllables spill out his lips before he can stop them.

_ “Ryan.” _


End file.
